


Undercover, Underground, and Under Duress

by EVVS



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Holographic arm makes an appearance, M/M, Slurs, Torture, Undercover As Prostitute, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVVS/pseuds/EVVS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When undercover, there are a few rules:</p>
<p>• When you get a cover story, stick to it.<br/>• Don't ever lose your cover.<br/>• Don't screw over your partner.</p>
<p>Well, at least Clint can keep the prostitute part of his cover together. Everything else? Not so much.</p>
<p>(Bucky already has so many regrets.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover, Underground, and Under Duress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lethally_deadly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethally_deadly/gifts).



> This is for the Winterhawk Fic Exchange 2015 and I may or may not have gotten really liberal with the stuff that requested, but hopefully it's alright! Shout out to my editor AroAceArrowAce even though I wanted to kill her towards the end of this thing.
> 
> Gifted to lethally-deadly! Hope you enjoy!!

His morning coffee usually goes interrupted as almost everyone has figured out at this point that he doesn’t like being touched, disturbed, or even acknowledged until he’s had at least two mugs, but yet, Natalia is staring him down from across the kitchen.

“What d’you want?” Bucky finally asks, after that second cup has been finished off and he’s pouring himself a third.

She brushes her hair behind her ear ever so slightly, and she sounds surprisingly professional for this early in the morning as she says, “I heard you’ve got an undercover op with Barton.”

He wants to sigh, but instead he leans against the counter and tiredly stares at her in a noncommittal way. The metal hand holds his mug’s handle while the flesh hand wraps around the side of the cup for warmth. “You got a problem with that, Romanoff?”

“Heard that you requested him for the op. Not anyone else.” Her eyes narrow in the slightest as she says, “Just him.”

“Also requested you as our back-up,” Bucky reminds her lowly.

“Even though you know he’d be better as back-up.”

She isn’t wrong, but Barnes won’t say that. Won’t give her the satisfaction. “We won’t even need back-up,” he reassures before taking a sip of his coffee.

A wry smile possesses her face in a way that suddenly has Bucky caught somewhere between curious and scared; his brow furrows as she says, “You’ll need back-up. Barton’s terrible undercover.”

He takes the opportunity to roll his eyes. “Barton’s a good agent.”

“He’s a good _sniper_.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Her jaw is tight, and for some reason, Bucky feels an “I told you so” in his near future. But instead, she shakes her head before pushing away from the counter to walk off in the opposite direction. Still, over her shoulder, she tells him, “You’re gonna have fun with this one, Barnes.”

* * *

It’s just a quick test run on his holographic arm cover, nothing even close to the stuff HYDRA subjected him to, but damn if his skin doesn’t absolutely _crawl_ as the doors slide open to Tony’s lab.

“Sergeant Barnes is here to see you, sir,” comes the overhead voice of JARVIS, who Bucky enjoys enough but doesn’t entirely understand. But at least he’s prompt in getting Tony’s attention because Stark turns around in his spinning chair with a shit-eating grin.

“So, you’ve got a mission with Hawkeye?”

Oh God, not this again. Bucky rolls his shoulders and strides closer to Stark, trying to keep from saying things he’ll regret. He can handle Natalia because he respects her. Stark, not as much. He respects Stark’s mind, but not necessarily his tact. “Yep.”

The grin only grows. “You’re gonna have a _great_ night then, Buckaroo,” he laughs lowly before spinning back around to his desk and shoving aside metal scraps and tools until he’s got whatever he’s looking for— a small chip that’s maybe the size of his thumbnail.

Bucky’s already resigned to not ask. These idiots aren’t going to stop him. He’s got a mission, he’d rather take Clint than anyone else, and it’s already said and done. It’s happening.

“I mean, it’s not like he gets kinky or anything on mission-“

Bucky rolls his eyes and sits absolutely still on the table while Tony carefully pries off one of the metal plates on his arm with a screwdriver. He doesn’t want to know. He just wants it to be over at this point.

“-but he starts to...“ The metal plate finally pops off to show the wiring underneath. And Stark is, for once, silent, thank God. And he stays silent as he starts to play with the wires that he’s already seen plenty of times—which is something Bucky isn’t too thrilled about but, given the situation, he’d rather have Tony than some stranger—before planting the chip in a tiny slot hidden in a burrow of wires in Bucky’s bicep.

The hologram kicks in, and suddenly the metal is replaced with skin except from where the plate is still missing and the wires are showing like exposed veins. He’s set for the op.

Tony starts to repair the plate and slip it back into place. “You’ll have fun with him.” He’s quickly got the plate back on. “I’ll definitely be reading the mission report on this one.”

It’s not important because all Bucky wants to do is get out of the lab, and he does, but not without flipping off Stark in the process.

* * *

“I need to borrow one of your suits.”

Steve blinks at the hall’s too bright lighting and bites his lower lip before opening the door more to let Bucky on through.

Bucky shoulders his way on in and sees Sam on their bed with a tablet in hand. Sam looks up long enough to raise an eyebrow and say with faux annoyance, “You’re interrupting bedtime.” Then he goes back to tapping at the screen. (Bucky bites back a comment about Angry Birds only because it would’ve had Steve crack a smile and only annoyed Sam more.)

“He’s allowed to interrupt bedtime,” laughs Steve sheepishly, clearly padding around the room in his sweats because he had to pull pants on in a hurry. Definitely interrupting bedtime. Steve moves towards his closet, Bucky following closely behind.

“Can’t he just ask for someone to buy him an actual suit?” Sam interrupts himself as he tries to swallow a yawn; still, he carries on afterwards, “Better yet, can’t he and Clint go shopping together for this shit for better coordination? Aren’t dates supposed to match?”

“Babe, hush,” says Steve before he pulls open the closet doors.

Bucky leans against the wall while watching Steve pick through his wardrobe. Seeing as he’s the only one even remotely Bucky’s size, Sam being the second closest, Steve’s the only one with something Bucky can wear. Steve pulls out his favorite navy blue suit, and Bucky rolls his eyes; it goes back in the closet.

This process happens about two or three more times before Steve finally has to pause, and there’s a split second of Steve looking to Sam, and, because they aren’t exactly subtle, Bucky has to ask: “What?”

“You don’t gotta look perfect for him, y’know,” says Sam from the bed, settling back into the pillows and putting his tablet to sleep for the moment. It flops down on his exposed stomach. “He doesn’t give two shits what you wear.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky’s just about to push past Steve and just grab one of the damn suits and get the fuck out, but then Steve’s trying to level with him, doing the whole eye-contact thing and serious face, the whole deal. He isn’t getting out of this unscathed now.

“Buck, you should know—“

Even Steve? Of all people who were going to harass him about this, he didn’t anticipate Steve being one of them, he expected Steve to just let him go so he and Clint could just do their goddamned jobs—

“—Clint gets… weird undercover.”

Sam, again, chimes in, “Really weird.”

Folding his arms, Bucky stays silent and nods for Steve to pull out another suit. He’ll take this one no matter wha— Okay, not that one, that color would look awful on him. Bucky shakes his head and waits for Steve to pull out the next one.

“Barnes, we’re sayin’ this for your own good,” Sam cuts in. “Nat’s a better choice for the mission. She’s faster, and she’d be easier to believe with that cover—“

The line has been crossed, and Bucky’s patience is out the window at this point. As soon as Steve pulls out the next suit, Bucky’s more than happy to take it and mumble a thanks to Steve before throwing Sam a pointed look. He really doesn’t mind Sam, honestly, but sometimes…

“Stay safe,” calls Steve just before the door shuts behind Bucky and he heads off down the hallway. Behind the door, he can hear Steve say, “Babe, why?”

* * *

They were right.

It physically pains him to realize the true fact that Clint Barton is absolutely terrible undercover.

Their cover was supposed to be simple. Bucky was supposed to be playing the head of an up-and-coming oil company who came to the Hammer Gala in hopes of networking with some new steel suppliers to get his name into the business world some more. He had two files of information to memorize to keep his story straight. As for Clint, the archer was supposed to be his escort for the night. Just an escort. He had a page to memorize just for a quick story. He was just there to smile and look pretty.

It has been less than thirty minutes and Clint has already devised six different cover stories, used three different accents, and introduced himself under numerous different names.

As Jethromiah Tannenbaum, which Bucky is pretty sure might be worse than having Buchanan as a middle name, Clint used an American accent from the Deep South and slurred half his words together as if he were already drunk.

Later, when he introduced himself to a Russian dignitary as James Dean, he flashed Bucky this huge ass smile, and Bucky bit his lip. Why? Probably some mix of the idea of Clint using his name but also because that grin messed with his head.

With a New York drawl, he called himself Robert Barnes (again, Bucky almost lost it) before explaining an extensively long story about how he and Bucky (who was supposed to be going by Matthew for the night) met at a bar in upstate New York and how “Robert” was propositioned by the one and only Leonardo DiCaprio, but then “Matthew” offered a higher price and swept him off his feet and they went on a week-long yacht cruise after that and had copious amounts of sex. He even dropped the phrase “it’s true love”, and Bucky definitely didn’t choke on his champagne.

Those were just the worst ones. Others included stories of car chases and even how they did drugs together.

So much for “Matthew” trying to network for the oil company tonight.

Really, they just had to make the rounds and get fresh intel on Hammer’s operations to make sure nothing else was coming out of his research pipelines that they needed to be concerned about. There had been mentions of new robotics tech in the makings, something similar to an Iron Man suit.

Tonight’s best case scenario: they find the exact specs for the suit, if it exists.

The worst case scenario: they get made.

With the way Clint is talking right now, he sounds like a high-class hooker from Chicago, drawling out specific pronunciations carefully to keep his character. He’s got his hand on Bucky’s back, and it’s moving down slowly, fingers spread, and it hits the small of his back; Bucky keeps his composure and even manages to send his warm smile towards Clint. That hand keeps sliding down to the curve of his ass with a careful little squeeze—

“If you’ll excuse us,” breathes Bucky to dismiss himself, setting his now empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter, “I seem to have some business to attend to.” And he winks to the group they’re talking to, some incredibly kind Middle Eastern ambassadors, before leaning to whisper in Clint’s ear, “Did you have to do that?”

“It’s for the cover!” Clint defends his ass grabbing in nothing more than a murmur before adding a feigned laugh as if Bucky has just said the funniest thing in the whole world. At least he’s held onto his hooker story very carefully because that’s something Bucky can sell to anyone: Clint really is the most attractive guy in the room. He isn’t a James Bond or an Adonis necessarily, but he’s got a grin a mile wide and eyes that could start the next Trojan War.

Bucky may or may not be infatuated with him.

“Just stick with the plan, sweetheart,” sighs Bucky before kissing Clint’s cheek; it’s for the cover, he has to remind himself.

“Well, we’re going to find a room, aren’t we?” And Clint makes sure to say that a little too loudly so that they’ve got some kind of cover as to why no one should go looking for them. Not everyone will be able to hear it, the ballroom is huge after all, but it’ll be a start. Lower, the archer adds, “It’ll just so happen to be a room that has computer servers inside.”

“Third floor accordin’ to the building blueprints, but you’ll need to find a way to get us past these guards.”

Clint huffs. “Best way to do that is to literally grab your dick. Then they won’t have any choice but to let us upstairs to, uh, work it out.”

As they push through the crowd towards the wide set of ivory stairs that lead to where they’re hoping to get through, Bucky tsks at Clint’s plan. Instead, he looks around for some kind of distraction. Seeing nothing easy enough to work with, he eyes Clint, who’s still grinning. Grinning like a beautiful idiot.

“How fast can you get drunk?” asks Bucky.

Blinking in surprise, Clint says, “Well, I’ve got a high alcohol tolerance, but I don’t think we should be drinking too much on mission, Barnes.”

“I meant act. Act drunk.” He eyes the guards, who seem to have their eagle eyes trained on many of the night’s other patrons. “I’ll have to go put you down somewhere. If we’re lucky, they’re douchebags and they’ll be fine with me wantin’ to take you somewhere with malicious intent.”

Clint’s face scrunches up, and he mutters a gentle “ew” before rolling his shoulders and immediately slouching against Bucky, his legs like jelly all of a sudden. Why Clint wasn’t an actor, Bucky would never know. Oh, right, he couldn’t keep his goddamn character straight. He’d get hired as Jason Bourne or something and end up being a manic Australian by the end of the first day of filming. That’s why Clint Barton isn’t an actor.

They head closer to the stairs and the guards probably won’t smell that Clint is stone-cold sober when they meander past. They might smell that he’s wearing too much damn cologne, but that’s not the point. When Bucky’s about to slip his “victim” past the guards under the pretense of “I won’t be too rough with him, I’ll make sure he stays quiet”, one of them leans in to ask, “Mind if I join in?”

Bucky literally feels Clint quiver next to him. “Mine,” he says maybe a little too defensively as he keeps pushing Clint’s staggering body up the stairs as he plays drunk. And maybe Bucky does return a favor from earlier and grabs Clint’s ass, to which Clint apparently responds with a low noise while Bucky repeats, “All mine.”

Whatever anyone says, he’s definitely not enjoying this too much. He’ll deny it every day for the rest of his life. He’s not enjoying it. That’s the bottom line.

There’s more staggering and they’re at the top of the stairs, and Bucky checks over his shoulder to see that no one’s noticed them beyond the guards thinking the worst, and it’s like he’s seeing the room for the first time: elegant people dancing, the floor reflecting the golden lights overhead, the shimmer of dresses and gems. It’s like a ball.

“Don’t get distracted, sweetheart,” snickers Clint under his breath as he straightens himself up a bit. He rubs a hand along the small of his own back like he’s sore from playing the slouching drunk. “We’ve got a room to find.” His smirk broadens as he adds, “For nefarious purposes.”

Apparently, Clint’s too upright too soon now that he’s no longer leaning so heavily on Bucky, and there’s the call from behind them of “Wait up, you two!”

How it wasn’t one of Clint’s bullshit cover stories that got them blown, Bucky’ll never know, but Clint’s bolting before there are even footsteps closing in on them; his fight or flight response is clearly a mess because he’s just gone, running like hell, so Bucky has no choice but to run now and hope Natalia can see that they aren’t where they’re supposed to be and put together the notion that they’re probably about to end up in deep shit.

There’s more yelling behind them because the guards are giving chase now and Bucky’s up alongside Clint now, who is not as fast as he’d like to be, and it’s quickly turning into something where they may need to call Natalia in for an extraction or back-up depending on which way this swings—

—but Barton falling flat on his face turns into a determining factor.

“Fuckin’ hell,” groans Bucky, having to practically skid to a stop and almost falling over himself to try to get back to Barton, who is pathetically shouting, “Go on without me!” But going on without him isn’t an option. (Bucky didn’t even want to go on this mission without him.)

When he gets back to Barton, the archer’s trying to call in Natalia but something’s up with the comms or maybe it’s his aids, Bucky isn’t sure because Barton’s just yelling “Goddammit, Nat!”

Bucky grabs Clint by the back of his suit and pulls him up a little too roughly, ripping the fabric but getting him up effectively enough. But being more worried about Clint than about their surroundings, Bucky comes to quickly realize that they aren’t getting away from this fast enough, and so instead of turning tail again, he’s throwing himself into the fight that’s about to break out as soon as these guys reach them. (Maybe Clint will be able to get away, get Natalia—)

There are guys and guns everywhere, and it’s a mess, one huge mess where Bucky’s trying to be careful enough with the metal arm but also hard enough with the flesh and blood one. Everything’s a mess because suddenly men are bleeding, which Bucky finds out very quickly is because there’s a crossbow in play courtesy of Clint being incredibly sneaky with his arsenal, and he’s wearing a grin when Bucky eventually spots him.

But that doesn’t mean they’re free. Because there are guns in play. And there are silencers so that the show downstairs can go on. But that doesn’t mean Clint isn’t shot. And the first thing Bucky hears is Clint’s body dropping like a sack of bricks, falling hard to the floor.

Bucky is reckless in all of two cases: when Steve is in trouble…

…and when Clint’s hurt.

Not that Clint can’t hold his own, he can damn well hold his own, but when he’s hurt, he’s a fucking pissbaby sometimes, and Bucky knows this too well, he’s had to haul a wounded Clint off the battlefield a few too many times; there have been missions where Clint has kept going despite nearly bleeding out, but there have also been days where a twisted ankle will have him writhing while the rest of the world is exploding around him. (Bucky isn’t sure what to do with all of this goddamn information or why he even knows this much.)

And it takes all of ten seconds for Bucky to turn his back on his own fight to try and take on Clint’s, but that’s not the best plan because then he feels hands on him in restraint (not like the way HYDRA had him, no, no) and he tries to rip free (because he won’t go back, he won’t) but then they’re just beating him over the head (it hurts but _let go goddammit_ ) and he can only see Clint on the ground, and Clint’s patting the ground desperately like he’s looking for something, but he’s got his quiver, he’s got his crossbow, he’s fine except he’s _bleeding_ and he needs _help_ —

* * *

He blinks open bleary eyes. Not drugged, he determines quickly, he knows that feeling too well, but definitely some sort of actual physical battery. Oh, right, being beaten to hell, that’d do it. But he opens his eyes and there’s Clint.

And he’s fine.

Bucky can take head wounds any day of the week, can recover quickly enough to not die, can take a leisurely walk through hell, but Clint can’t. Still, seeing that Clint’s leg has been sutured is enough for Bucky. And Clint’s pale, but he doesn’t look awful. Beaten, battered, and bruised, but it’s nothing worse than usual considering he jumps off buildings like it’s a goddamned sport.

Right now, he’s fine. He isn’t bleeding to death. He isn’t unconscious even. He’s fine.

Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever woken up so relieved.

But that’s aside from the fact that they’re restrained. Bucky’s can feel that his arms are strapped together behind him, and his shoulders are pulled back so he can’t move. He can twist his hands slightly, but he can’t pull at any anything at all. Not much of a chance of escape, and just from the stiffness of even slightly trying to shift where he sits, he can tell they’ve been here a while.

But on the bright side of that, he glances up at Clint, who’s watching him with a raised eyebrow. And Clint’s restrained not quite the same (thank God) because he’s just cuffed and attached to the floor, hands in front of him, and it’s almost pathetic, like they didn’t even try. Because he’s just a guy with a bow and arrow who may or may not have almost bled out.

“How bad d’you think this looks?” asks Bucky with an annoyed groan as he swings his legs out from under him, which quickly backfires into him feeling smaller and the tightness of his arms being even more awkward.

There’s a little groan as Clint shifts slightly, and his face looks pained. “I can’t hear a goddamn thing you’re saying.” The agitation is in his too-loud voice as he adds, “They took my aids. Thought they were earwigs.” What he’s really saying is that he’s lost communication with Natalia, and Bucky’s pretty sure if there were something within Clint’s reach, he’d probably be throwing it.

Bucky leans his head back until it hits the wall he’s up against. No mobility, no visible escape routes aside from what looks like practically a vault door, and Clint’s too hurt to try to go anywhere, not to mention trying to explain an escape plan would be difficult because Clint _can’t fucking hear him_.

This whole position is bad to be in. Where the fuck is Natalia, she was supposed to keep an eye on them—

Bucky huffs a sigh because the only good news about all of this is it isn’t HYDRA and Clint’s fine. He looks over Barton, whose eyes are half closed and wears a face tightened by pain. (He wants to reach out but _can’t_.) “Sorry you’re hurt,” Bucky says even though Clint can’t hear him, probably isn’t even fully focused on the situation considering he’s gotta be in a lot of pain. “Sorry I got you into this mess. Should’ve requested Romanova instead.”

“Still can’t hear you,” reminds Clint lazily, eyeing his leg with a grimace.

Bucky lowly grunts because, for once, he has the freedom to talk and Barton, who can’t even hear him, is basically telling him to stop talking.

Clint makes a move to touch his leg before deciding better of it; either that or he’s just now realizing he’s chained up and can’t move that far. “This is a little medieval, honestly. For someone as high tech as Hammer, this is pretty pathetic.”

It’s unfair for Bucky to have to listen to Clint, really. (He likes the sound of Barton’s voice, but that’s not the point.) So he watches Clint readjust himself and settle in, watching Bucky while giving a half-hearted shrug. “I’d love to say we could talk, but that’s not really an option here,” Clint mutters, still managing to somehow be too loud.

“Fuck you, Barton.”

Clint opens his mouth and then shuts it again, shrugging and shaking his head. He can’t hear a damn thing and it’s clearly frustrating the fuck out of him.

That won’t stop Bucky. “Fuck you for being terrible undercover and for fuckin’ with me all night and for bein’ a general asshole.” Bucky’s gritting his teeth as he’s saying this because he’s so tired from tonight and his head is getting a dull throb starting, which he probably deserves. “I wanted to come on this mission to spend time with you and to see you in a nice damn suit and you just had to be difficult as all hell.”

Clint keeps watching Bucky talk, and he looks helpless, absolutely vulnerable, like a kicked puppy.

“Y’kno, I have this thing for you that I can’t explain, it’s like a fuckin’ fascination with the way you work, the way you live this stupid ass life of yours like nothin’s goin’ wrong with the world. It’s all a mess. But you-“ And Bucky laughs. He fucking laughs. “-You act like it’s all perfectly fine somehow.” He wants to roll his shoulders but can’t; he hates these restraints. “I don’t understand you, Barton, but I respect you. And it’s a problem. Because I think it means I’m lettin’ myself fall for you.”

Clint’s not watching Bucky anymore, he’s watching the cold concrete between them through dull eyes.

“And it’s not that I don’t want that. I wasn’t allowed to have feelings.” (Thanks, HYDRA.) “And now I do. And for you. Of all people. You’re a mess, you pretend to be a fool, and your blood is actually coffee. And I wanna pick you.”

Clint shifts uncomfortably, his fingers fiddling with the cuffs. “Still deaf.”

“You bastard,” huffs Bucky.

He’s not mad. Bucky isn’t even really mad at Clint, necessarily; he’s more just frustrated with not knowing how to handle anything. Maybe some part of him was hoping Clint would make a move tonight, maybe the situation would let one thing lead to another, but he’s lost that opportunity now.

Instead, they’re shackled, Clint’s deaf, and Bucky’s pissed.

And that’s when the door gets thrown open, banging sharply against the wall as it swings on clearly loose hinges.

This looks bad.

Three men come in, and one’s carrying a Bowie knife, something that Bucky knows can be dangerous if wielded by the right hands. His gut is already clenching at the sight of the blade, and that means this could go south quickly if he doesn’t keep himself in check. Just the glimmer it gives off makes him want to puke.

None of the men are Hammer, at least, probably just his lackeys (do the rich ones have lackeys?) who have been delegated to handle whatever level of infiltration bullshit this is. The smallest one, a man who also just so happens to be dressed the nicest, is the first to talk: “You thought you could sneak into Hammer’s place and steal Hammer’s tech?”

Clint decides to pipe up at this point because he clearly has no idea what’s going on; he just blinks into the light that frames these new opponents and asks in almost a pathetic way: “Can I have my hearing aids back?” At this, Bucky grumbles and rolls his eyes, and Clint must’ve noticed because he says, “Hey, fuck you, you got me into this!”

That is a fact that Bucky is painfully aware of.

The back of a hand catches Bucky across the face. “ ‘ey, pay attention to me, you lil’ prick.”

And these guys have Bucky’s full attention. Or at least most of his attention because he’s still trying to keep tabs on Clint, who is fidgeting uncomfortably. Bucky knows how interrogation techniques work. He knows how to avoid getting caught in hot water.

Now it’s a full-on fist that connects with his cheekbone, and it’s a punch that isn’t pulled in the slightest. And his head jerks back with the force of it.

“Shit, _Barnes_ ,” gasps Clint.

There’s no range of motion in his arms, he can’t even _move_. They’ll have to wait it out. Natalia should have a tracker on them, they might be too deep for a signal on that though, Bucky didn’t notice any windows before, and now everything’s a little less clear because a second punch slams into his face; this time, Bucky notices the guy is wearing rings. It hurts like hell.

“Who the fuck you workin’ for?” spits out a different guy, one who clearly isn’t meant for the brute force in interrogations. He’s small and seedy, like a rat. “You with Red Skull or somethin’?”

“Red Skull’s a bag of dicks,” Barnes hisses back, but apparently that isn’t an answer they wanted and his whole head jerks sideways as he receives another hard slap— better than a punch, at least.

“You with Stark?” the little one asks with a little more of a snarl; he sounds like he’s from New Jersey. Fuck Jersey. “You workin’ for Tony fuckin’ Stark?”

Bucky laughs. “Hate Stark. Fuck Stark.” He doesn’t trust Tony as much as he could, necessarily, but he doesn’t _hate_ him, so it’s a lie, and he’ll lie through his teeth until Natalia gets to them. Really, he’s gotta hold out because he sees Clint, and Clint looks furious, but he can’t do anything, he’s just fiddling with his cuffs and glancing between Bucky and his hands, trying to get a grip on _what the hell is going on_ —

“Then whaddaya here for, punk?”

“Was hopin’ to tap his ass,” Bucky says through a snarky grin with a loose gesture towards Clint, whose forehead is creasing as he gets increasingly more frustrated. “Then you guys interrupted it with this shit. The chains are nice and kinky but not my th—”

This punch comes with a _crack!_ and Bucky’s pretty sure they just broke his nose; yeah, they did, he can taste the blood as it runs down his face. “That was rude,” he bites out with an annoyed huff, but he ends up spitting blood on himself.

“He’s useless,” comes the seedy one’s voice. He snaps his fingers and points to the other big guy, the one who hasn’t been beating the shit out of Bucky, and says quickly, “Slice up the twink. Let’s see if we can’t get this one to talk.”

_No_

Bucky pulls against his restraints and he’s pretty sure he’s gonna tear the metal arm from his shoulder at this rate and that’d be awful but he’s not thinking about it too much right now because the one who’s heading to Clint has a _knife_ and Clint’s already _bleeding_ , and Bucky suddenly feels like he can’t fucking _breathe_ —

It’s like lightning, and Bucky isn’t even entirely sure what he’s seeing but Clint’s got his arms free even though they’re still cuffed together, but he swings upwards once and catches the knife against his chains, holding it there for a moment before using his grip to twist the goon’s arm at an uncomfortable angle.

Bucky can’t even get his arms free and Clint is still cuffed and taking down one of them because there’s a sick cracking sound and _shit_ , Bucky can see that guy’s bone sticking out suddenly; when he looks to Clint’s face, the man is in perfect focus mode as another one starts to pull a gun. With a twist, Clint pulls the guy with the knife in front of him like a shield, and the bullets leave holes in him while Bucky can barely hear Clint murmuring, “Please don’t be through and through, please don’t be through and through.”

The magazine runs out, Bucky knows he only had a couple shots with that kind, not to mention there were guns earlier (Clint had made a good call) and so the one with the knife drops, and Clint kicks the knife to Bucky, keeping it out of the fight as the next two come on the approach.

Clint’s favoring his left leg, trying to shift his weight as he has to deal with the scrawny one first, and there’s a punch that he dodges, almost goes down because his leg can’t hold him up well enough with him trying to move that fast, and instead he backs up and moves himself towards Bucky, steps to keep from getting hit. But the scrawny guy gets ahold of the chains that’s keeping Clint from his full range of motion and pulls him forward, and Clint can’t keep his balance, he falls forward—

Bucky’s got the other one, the one with the rings that broke his fucking nose, who’s trying to get to Clint, but Bucky trips him with a quick kick (thank God his legs are free at least) and he drops, falling into the other one like dominoes.

And Clint’s managed to stay upright, he’s pitched forward because the rat man has a death grip on the chain between his cuffs. Clint, who’s clearly pissed beyond all point of reason, just kicks him right in the face and that gets him to release the cuffs. He spits on the guy before sharply kicking the other one, and this time he says, “That’s for punching Barnes.” And he kicks him again, this time square in the head. “That’s for being a general douche.” He’s still too loud.

Bucky’s staring up at him now as he fidgets more, picking more at his cuffs, and Bucky can see now that he’s got a pick with him (where the hell did he get a pick from) that he must’ve used to get the lock off the cuffs to get free from the floor at least. Hence the fidgeting, Bucky understands now as he stares up at Clint who drops the cuffs and rubs his wrists for a second.

Clint prods the two guys, making sure they’re down for the count and then looks at the third, who is as dead as dead can get. Then he looks to Bucky, and Clint looks exhausted. “Shit, Barnes, you look like hell glazed over,” he breathes before bending down and manhandling the knife; he circles around behind Bucky and starts a swift hackjob at the leather restraints. (He’s nervous for only a second about the blade before he remembers it’s just Clint.)

“If you’re talking to me, I still can’t hear a damn thing. I wasn’t lying about that.” Clint gets the upper restraints off and that’s enough for Bucky to pull apart the lower ones with sheer strength now that he’s got the leverage for it. “I mean, I was lying about being, y’know, stuck there and stuff, but I really did lose my aids back in the fight.” He circles back around to stand in front of Barnes and even offers him a hand to haul him up.

Bucky takes his hand and swings himself upright while Clint grunts against the pain in his leg. And when they’re standing face-to-face, Bucky watches Clint’s tired eyes. “I love you,” Bucky says.

“Can we leave?” whines Clint.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, let’s get outta here.” And he pulls Clint’s arm across his shoulders for support and heads towards the still-open door.

* * *

Luckily for Bucky, he heals fast. His nose isn’t as pretty as it once was, but he can still breathe and that’s all he needs it for, really.

He’s in the hospital just waiting to see when he can visit Clint now: Clint, who had to have a bullet pulled from his leg and refused painkillers and had to have Natalia look for his spare set of aids. That piece of shit.

One of the nurses finally passes through the doorway and lets them know they can go in, them being Natalia, Steve, and Bucky.

Bucky tenses up, about ready to rise before he remembers that Natalia is the one who’s closest to Clint on this team and that she’ll want to be the first to see him, so he looks to her, waiting for her to rise, but instead, he receives a look from her in return. “You go first,” she tells him. “He’ll want to make sure you’re okay.”

Hesitation settles onto his face until she says again, this time more forcefully, “You go first. He’ll want to make sure you’re okay.”

This time, Bucky does rise, maybe a little more reluctant than he was initially. He pushes the door open and heads inside.

“Hey there, Mr. Winter Smolder,” says Clint in his most charming way, shifting so he can sit up a little better in the hospital bed. He winces, but he’s grinning through it. “You look worse for wear today.”

He grins and steps up to the side of the bed. “S’only ‘cause someone couldn’t pick a lock _before_ I got beaten senseless.”

“A guy can only pick a lock so fast, Barnes,” laughs Clint, his smile still as sweet as ever. (Bucky loves the sight of it.)

There’s a silence that falls, and Bucky fidgets, flexing the metal hand so that the whirring of the arm fills the awkwardness. “Listen,” he says after a second, “I’m sorry for takin’ you on the mission and not watchin’ your back. I shoulda—”

“I heard you.”

There’s a pause.

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t hear you, exactly,” says Clint with a shrug, “because I’m definitely deaf, hated that part of the mission, I should make a note to bring at least two extra pairs of aids when I’m in the field, but that’s not the point.” And he pulls himself back off his tangent by refocusing his attention on Bucky. “I could read your lips. Didn’t catch it all ‘cause lipreading isn’t super effective, but I got the gist of it.”

Bucky’s stomach feels like it’s about to drop out. _Shit._

“Love you too, by the way.” Clint’s grin only widens. “I definitely caught that part.”

This is a whole different sort of frozen than the kind Bucky’s used to. He feels frozen in time but, for once, he’s aware of it. Until Clint reaches out a hand anyways. And operating on autopilot, Bucky reaches out to take it.

“We don’t have to deal with this now,” breathes Clint, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “But after I’m not surrounded by machines monitoring my damn vitals and about to get a lecture from Tash, maybe then we can talk?”

It takes Bucky a second to process this. That it’s not just all in his head anymore. That there’s something real here. “Yeah.” He squeezes Clint’s hand right back. “Yeah, we’ll talk later.”

Clint visibly relaxes, and Bucky takes a second and bends down to kiss Clint’s forehead. As Bucky leans away, he says, “Good luck dealing with Natalia.”

The groan that Clint unleashes only causes Bucky to smile as he heads out the door.

* * *

“You can’t tie your own damn ties right, I’m not lettin’ you anywhere near mine.”

“It’s ridiculously hard. You know this is why they invented the clip-on kind, right?”

Bucky smiles and finishes the bowtie so that it looks nice and clean. He looks in the mirror to watch Clint, who stands a few feet behind him. “The clip-on kind don’t look as nice.”

“Yeah, but then I could, y’know, tie it for you.” Clint shrugs, even using the rifle in his hand to gesture to Bucky. “It’d be romantic.”

With a sigh, Bucky begins, “It’ll be plenty romantic when I get back and you’ve taken the shot. After all that, _then_ you can strip me out of this suit.” He turns away from the mirror finally and finds himself face-to-face with Clint.

“Don’t see why I couldn’t go down there with you,” murmurs Clint, tossing the rifle aside (and Bucky groans because only Clint would treat a gun like that) and now using both hands to readjust Bucky’s tie and his suit and his vest even though it’s all already fine. “Could just take the shot in a side room or something instead of playing your handler.”

“When it comes down to gettin’ information, you gotta keep a cover,” reminds Bucky. He smirks. “You _cannot_ keep a cover, Barton.”

“Still, I’d like to be down there just to see you in that suit.”

“You got access to ten different cameras, I’m sure you can keep one on my ass at all times if you try hard enough.”

Clint murmurs his approval of this idea before brushing a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Get in and get out quickly.” He kisses his boyfriend again. “We have this room the whole night, and I intend to thoroughly use it.”

Instead of responding, Bucky kisses Clint through his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a great experience as my first involvement with a fic exchange, and I can't wait for next year!
> 
> Hit me up @skylarkevanson on tumblr


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